An Unlikely Pairing
by dragonpearlz
Summary: A business arrangement leaves Cosette & a slightly younger Javert married. Together they must learn and grow and figure out how to make their marriage work for the both of them. Sick!fic. Not Canon and deviates from timeline.
1. New

It was late. The sun had long since set and the howling wind set the rain coursing against the side of the house. Across the way, she could hear someone practicing their drums, a sign of the war which was yet to come.

Lighting another candle, she put away her sewing. Although many claimed to enjoy sewing by firelight, she had to admit that it hurt her eyes. The embroidery would wait until the following day.

She opened the door and peered out. Nobody was there.

She sighed and closed the door, the front of her dress already wet with the splashes of the rainfall.

She lit a few candles and opened her books. She did not like to study when he was home. Her total disregard for anything he may need her for made her feel like she was shirking in her responsibilities as his wife.

It had been an interesting arrangement. Her papa had set her up with an old colleague of his. An arranged marriage seemed so formal, but she had to be honest – Javert was a good man. Far more patient than she was, although demanding when he thought he was being judged. He cared for her gently and supported her as was the duty of a man of his stature to take a wife. But, he never forced her to do anything against her will. And sometimes he would relax just enough, smoking his pipe or reading a book, where he would become calm, his tone would become gentle and his mannerisms passive. It was during those times that she loved him.

She moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. There was no doubt in her mind that by the time he arrived home he would be soaked to the bone. She knew she would have to warm him considerably to keep him from catching cold.

Colds were a peculiar thing. The rain would make him cold, which would cause his body to heat up to counter it. But, then he would get home and dry and be too warm, causing his nose to run and a sniffle to form. From that sniffle the cough, sneezing, and headache would come. She had seen it often enough with her papa to know it was true. The trick, she had learned, was to warm him up right away.

She heard the door clatter open, and she came out to greet him.

"Hello, dear," she said, kissing him on the cheek as was their custom. She looked him over. As assumed, she was soaked to the bone. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him a little closer, causing the water from his uniform to wet the front of her dress.

He hugged her back for a moment before retrieving an equally wet handkerchief and folding it over his nose and mouth. "Kesshh!"

"Bless you," she said, as he wiped off his mustache. "Ok – into the bath with you. I have drawn you a nice hot one and you should be able to warm up considerably."

"No, shower…" he breathed.

She crossed her arms and made a put upon sound. She did not like this new shower contraption. It didn't seem like it could get one clean enough. But, Javert liked it enough.

"Fine, to the shower with you. I will pull some coals from the fire to keep the water running warm."

"Thank you, my dear," he replied, his voice gruff with exhaustion. He took a few steps away before withdrawing his handkerchief again. "Heh-Kesshoo!" This sneeze was harsher and gave way to husky coughs.

"Now, Javert," she admonished, pushing him towards the wash room ever so gently.

He put one foot in front of the other and soon enough was at the end of the hallway staring at the bathroom door, wondering how he got there.

Cosette listened to the water run for ten minutes…. Fifteen… twenty. Something was not right. Javert took showers that were done in twenty minutes or less. No exceptions.

She rapt of the door tentatively. "Javert, are you all right?" she called.

Nothing.

"Javert, I'm coming in," she said, expecting him to cry out in alarm. But, he did no such thing.

When she came in, he was still in the shower. The water had cooled a bit, causing the steam to disappear in wisps. He stood in the spray, leaning over the side slightly so that he could lean his arm on the wall. His head was resting on his arm.

Having not seen her husband in the flesh before, Cosette was surprised by the amount of scars all over his body. Sharp jagged ones here, smooth thin ones there… She had known that his job was dangerous, but she had never considered the lasting physical effects.

His breathing was heavy and she wondered if he was going to sneeze again.

"Javert?" she asked gently, as she came up behind up him. The spray splashed her, but she didn't care.

"Don't touch me," his whispered breathily.

She ignored him and placed her hand on his back. She was surprised that he was cold to the touch, but heat seemed to radiate off of him. "Oh," she breathed, coming around to the side. Her hand remained there until he tilted his head a bit to look at her. "Dizzy?" she asked.

He nodded. His eyes glazed over and he looked back towards the wall. "Heh-Kessh!" he sneezed freely. "Apologies, miss," he whispered, leaning his head back against his arm.

She took a step closer and shushed him. Her hand slid down his back, as she reached down for the sponge and began to rub it over his legs.

He pulled away from her with a gasp, as though she had burned him.

"Hush now. I just need to wash the cold off of you."

He sighed, resigned, and she continued to gently run the sponge over his body.

A few chesty coughs made their way out of him and he sighed deeply with a wince.

"It's all right," she said, pressing her forehead against his temple and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "The water should be ready for tea and we'll get you all warmed up."

She turned off the water and wrapped him in a bath sheet. "Will you be all right to dress?" she asked, concern showing through her voice.

"I can do just fine," he all but snapped, instantly regretting it.

She nodded once, wringing her hands as she walked out. She knew he was curt normally and if he was feeling unwell that he would likely take it out on her. She knew what it was to feel unwell and to want to lash out. She couldn't blame him for giving into it – especially after a long day of work and then a longer, wetter, ride home.

She steeped the tea and waited for him to emerge, which he did so quickly. Coming down the stairs into the kitchen, his footing seemed even – even though his balance seemed a bit off.

"My apologies for snapping," he offered, taking a seat at the table.

"For whatever little slight, you are forgiven," she said, bringing him tea and kissing him softly on the cheek. Again, his skin was cold, but radiated with heat.

"You need not be so affectionate," he said, even as he leaned towards her touch. "I know that arranged marriages are difficult." He knew that a beauty such as she wouldn't love him for him. How could she? He couldn't ask her for affection. He was lucky that she was a good wife – keeping the house clean, cooking for him, and studying the scripture.

"I want to… unless you wish me not to," she offered, gently.

"You can," he whispered, feeling his heart warm. Never had someone wanted to give him affection, to care for him when he was ill. Not that he was unwell now, simply cold.

She smiled and took a seat next to him, sipping her tea and looking forward to their future together.


	2. Chapter 2

Javert lay on his stomach in the bed. Head turned to the side, his shift barely covered him, but bunching was not something he was concerned about. Heavy covers weighed him down as he sucked in jagged breaths, trying to repress the pain, even as he slept.

Cosette sat on the edge of the bed, her blue eyes like deep wells of concern. Javert had come home early, a strange thing indeed. The second he came in, she could tell why the precinct had sent him home early. Pale and drawn, he had bags under his eyes and an eerie green tint around his mouth.

She had barely had enough time to ask him what was wrong, when he ran to their indoor bathroom. A modern convenience that had nearly set them into debt, but one that her papa had insisted on.

She sighed as she went to the kitchen and poured him a cup of tea. She cut him some bread and put his favorite jam on it. He would need both fluid and nutritious food to get through whatever this was, though she guessed he would not be very hungry.

She set up the food in the dining room, even though she didn't assume that he would be able to sit down for a proper meal. She cut some fruit for herself as well as cutting some bread for her.

The noise from the bathroom ceased for several minutes. Going upstairs she knocked on the door.

"Not right now," he groaned, as his stomach continued to relieve itself.

She sighed and brought his tea and bread into the bedroom. Even if he could move around, she wouldn't want him to do so. He was likely embarrassed enough as it was. She couldn't imagine his shame if he needed her assistance or could not make it to the bathroom in time.

A few minutes later, he stumbled into the bedroom. "Excuse me," he slurred, walking listlessly until he nearly crumbled onto the bed.

She pushed him into a sitting position and pulled out her handkerchief. Cleaning up around his mouth, she tried not to wince at his breath. "Alcohol?" she asked.

"I never drink," his whispered, suppressing a groan.

She pressed her wrist to his forehead and frowned when she discovered that he definitely had a fever.

He groaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as the color drained from his face.

"Shh shhh shhh shhh," she soothed, untying his leather stock and putting it to the side. Then she let him lean forward a bit as she unbuttoned his blue woolen jacket. She was surprised how much he was sweating.

He shivered as the bedroom air hit him and coughed roughly, cheeks puffing out as he was too dazed to cover it.

"It's all right," she soothed. "When did it hit?"

He grunted as she pulled his shirt over his head. Already fever stained cheeks flushed deeper with embarrassment, but Cosette made no mention of his state of dress or undress.

Secretly she was pleased. The fact that he wasn't in a hissing, spitting temper at her meant that he had started to trust her. He had never hurt her, but he had barked at her angrily more times than she could count. She had learned that it was his way and not to take it personally. He wasn't a mean or callous man, simply rough around the edges.

She knelt down and pulled off his boots. "I'm going to leave you to your pants. I'm certain you can get out of those. Here's your shift," she said, pulling it out of his wardrobe.

He grimaced and groaned, bending forward a bit.

"Oh, come here," she said coming up to his side and trying to help him up.

"No…" he breathed. "I'll be okay. It just hurts." He coughed wetly, covering his mouth slightly too late.

"All right," she responded, brushing his bangs back a bit. "You have tea and bread here. Have a few sips if you can manage and I'll go fill the basin," she said, kissing him gently on the forehead.

He quickly pulled away from her.

She wasn't surprised. She had given him too much attention and affection already and she knew that. She just couldn't help herself.

Two hours later, she rubbed his back through his sweat soaked shift. His breathing had become ragged as he tried to repress his pain in his sleep. He had been sick a few more times through the night, but overall, he had kept his stomach in check.

"Shh, I've got you," she whispered. Heavy eyes drifted shut, but she kept starting herself awake. Until she didn't. Slowly, sleepily, she laid down next to him. The corset made it nearly impossible for her to breath and she propped herself up on the pillows. "Come here," she whispered, tugging ever so slightly on his shift.

With an uneasy groan, he moved himself so that his head rested in her lap. Sweat poured off of his face and wet her dress. Sleepily, she brushed his hair back, feeling its fine texture between her fingers. She was most attracted to him like this. Not when he was ill, but when he was vulnerable and too tired to notice that he had inadvertently let her in.

**C/J**

Cosette awoke the next morning to sounds of Javert's stomach emptying itself again. Hot and extremely uncomfortable, she took the time to get into a house dress and run a brush through her tangled mess of hair. Taking the time to pin it up suited her just fine, especially as Javert stumbled back into the bedroom, his stomach still rumbling.

He grunted as he collapsed onto the bed, letting out a groan of protest as his stomach gurgled louder.

She pressed a cool wet rag to the back of his neck. "Shh, just breath into the coolness," she said, realizing how stupid she likely sounded to him.

"Just leave me alone," he mumbled, grunting as his stomach roiled again. If he hoped to go to work that night, he would have to get on the mend and fast.

"I'm going to send a message to your sergeant. I think you need another night home," she said, taking control of the situation.

"No!" he snapped. "You stupid little girl. Just mind your place and let me handle my job." He breathed out slowly and let his eyes drift closed again.

Taken aback by his insult she blinked back unbidden tears. "As you wish," she said, going into the sitting room. She needed to get herself together before she made him some ginger tea. She didn't expect that he would be well enough to go to work. But, she did suspect that he would be well enough to try – even if she had to force himself.

About an hour later, she reentered the bedroom with a cup of strong ginger tea.

Javert was asleep, sleeping soundly. His face was pressed hard into the pillow and arms hung limply at his sides. His hair was disshelved and he still held the stench of purification. He was not well enough to go back to work, she could already tell.

"Javert?" she asked, sitting on the bed and rubbing small circles on his back.

He awoke with a start. "What is it?" he asked, concerned.

"Tea," she offered.

The concern dissipated and turned into anger. "You did _not_ just wake me for that," he snapped. He grabbed the teacup away from her so forcefully that she was surprised it didn't spill.

"No, I also woke you to ask you to please not go to work tonight."

Anger flashed through his brown eyes. "How dare you," he hissed.

"Hear me out. While your stomach seems to have calmed, should you become ill again on the way, you will be stuck in Paris. Or worse, stuck ill in Paris. You don't want your men to see you weakened do you?"

He quieted and took another sip of tea.

"There is still time to send a message ahead. Please let me do so," she asked, stroking his shoulder lightly.

A simple nod of his head accompanied by a flush of his cheeks let her know that he was granting her permission to do so.

"Finish your tea," she whispered, taking her leave to write the letter. She was glad he saw things her way.

After she sent off the letter, she allowed him to rest. She sat in the sitting room doing needle point. His angry words, the insult, went around and around in her head. Things were different with her papa. More comfortable. He was easier to care for than Javert. Perhaps that was simply because she knew how to care for her papa. She had no idea how to care for Javert.

Hours passed and she looked up as the clock stuck eight. Generally, they would have already eaten dinner and she would be sitting down for a cup of tea and a recap on her day.

She lit the fire in the kitchen started a small meal for herself. Although it was late, she still needed to eat. Even if she wasn't much hungry.

She had just set a tray of tea and toast for him and a bit of something for her when she heard him in the hallway. She took a deep breath, hoping he was feeling better.

"Cosette?" he called for her, his voice hoarse.

Setting the tray aside, she came into the hallway. "Are you all right?" she asked, coming up to him.

He nodded once, eyes sleepily closing not quite at the same time.

"Oh dear," she said, aiding him to the sitting room and covering him with a blanket.

"Thank you," he breathed.

She pressed her hand to his forehead and smiled a bit as she realized that his fever had broken. "What do you need?" she asked.

He grunted and put his head on his arm, closing his eyes again.

'Odd,' she thought, getting his tea and toast.

She sat next to him on the couch and shook his shoulder. "Javert," she cooed softly. "Have some tea and we'll get you back to bed."

He straightened up slowly and took the tea. "Thank you," he whispered with a sniffle.

"Of course," she said, greedily devouring her meal. She had waited too long to eat and was developing a headache.

After he finished his tea and took a few bites of toast, she took him back to bed. Settling him into the bed, she put the cool cloth onto the back of his neck again. "Thank you," he whispered.

She went to leave, but clammy fingers brushed her hand. When she looked at him, she noticed through the shadows cast over him by the candlelight. "Stay, please," he whispered, his voice hoarse and exhausted.

"Are you sure? I don't want to smother you," she asked, figuring that he was hallucinating.

"Please," he whispered again, closing his eyes.

She toed off her shoes and sat on the bed with him. Without her doing anything, he repositioned himself so that his head was partially on her chest. Smiling, she wrapped one arm around him and held him close, feeling his body pressed against her, feeling both the roles of protector and protected wrap around them.


	3. Chapter 3

Pretty Things

"Oof!" Javert, doubled over with pain as his attackers fist landed, hard into the pit of his stomach. He worked to straighten back into a standing position, but the two men holding his arms had pushed his neck forward.

"Argha!" he cried out as he tried to free himself. He positioned his body backwards to try to step on their insteps or kick their shins. But, they continue to apply pressure to his shoulders and keep him bent and helpless, as the leader of their gang continued his assault.

A sickening crack echoed in his head as the man landed a shot to his nose. He snorted back the blood which had started to stream out of his nose. He strained to keep his eye open as he felt it begin to swell shut. It had been many years since he had taken such a beating and he took a bit of pleasure in the fact that it was taking three men to take him down. But, they wouldn't take him all the way down. No, he would remain standing.

*** Javert & Cosette***

Javert's body throbbed. His right eye had swollen shut mere minutes after the other officers had arrived. It took all of his strength to stay upright, although he was certain that any frightening looks that he was giving were because he was grotesque looking rather than formidable. He worried less about what the other men would think of him than what Cosette would.

True, she had been kind to him – moreso than he felt he deserved. She didn't only cook his meals and keep their home clean, but she read from the Bible (even outloud if he requested it), she kept up on gossip trends that he could not be bothered with, but seldom worried him with anything, she kept a good public face, made certain that she was dressed to their highest economic standards whenever she went out, and never gave people something to talk about. She kept his secrets – what little he had told her – including when he had been ill. She did not complain to her father that he had not consummated the marriage, nor did she push him to do so, even though she would be well within her rights to inquire. He knew she wanted children, but had made his thoughts on such creatures clear. He felt a part of him run cold when he thought of what she had given up for him. In fact, when he had heard anything about it from idle conversation at a ball or function, he always heard them say that she was barren. The only time he ever engaged someone in conversation about it – in an effort to defend her honor and their personal life, he had been informed that the words were straight from her. She had taken the blame for their not having children, rather than admitting that their personal life was platonic at best. She had taken a severe blow to her own reputation in order to save his.

Although he was fairly certain that she did not know that he knew, Javert was careful to make certain that he provided her was some happiness: a comfortable home, a God-fearing husband whose fidelity was never in question, the knowledge that she was married to a respected member of society, and – although he never thought himself very handsome – someone pleasant enough to look at. He felt that he should do more, but he was never certain what more would entail. He hoped that the marriage would get easier as it progressed, but it had yet to do so.

All of that said, there was one thing he knew about his wife: she liked pretty things. She enjoyed to wear well crafted dresses. She liked to have fresh flowers in the house, even during the seasons where his allergies were the worst. She had enjoyed decorating their home in the finest – affordable – fashions. She looked at him with pride whenever he wore his uniform, and with allure whenever he could be coaxed into wearing a tuxedo. He couldn't imagine the horror that she would look at him with when she saw him. The blood would be washed away at the precinct. But, the bruises and open gashes could not be hidden. His heart sunk sadly when he imagined her fleeing him in tears – locking herself in their room to escape the grotesque monster that she had been saddled with.

He felt his knee give way, as it shook painfully beneath his weight. When he had not been forced to the ground, it had been kicked out from under him. It hurt dreadfully, although he had relocated it with the help of the other officers.

"We should get you home. Come, you'll ride in my carriage," his Captain said, after he had cleaned himself up at the precinct.

He nodded once, feeling his head throb from the pressure change. It wasn't fair, really. Cosette deserved so much better than this –so much better than him. He wanted to get her something nice. Something to hide how hideous he was. Something to apologize for her having to be in the presence of something so horrible.

"Javert? Javert!" His Captains voice got increasingly louder and more urgent. "Are you all right? Perhaps we should take you to the hospital for observation?"

He looked at his Captain as though he was speaking another language. "Yes, of course," he replied, although he was confused by much of what was going on.

"Come. I'll take you home myself. I'm sure your wife will be expecting you."

He nodded again. Again, his head protested. He felt blessed that he was not ill on top of this, as he was certain that a sneeze would cause his brain to shatter.

The ride home was long and loud, although nothing was said between himself and the Captain. Javert swore that he could hear every rock that they went over, feel every hole and divot that the wheel went into or over. Finally, they arrived at his house. He could see Cosette reading by candle light in through the open curtains. He wished she wouldn't do that as he was certain that it wasn't good for her eyes. But, the sun was coming up and he was happy to be home. Exhaustion made his arms and legs heavy as he climbed out of the carriage and said good-bye to his Captain.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, professionally.

"Indeed you will not," his Captain retorted. "You will remain on leave for at least two days. Three is more like it."

Javert's jaw went slack. "But, Captain."

"No. I will not hear of it. You need to rest Javert. I expect to see you at their arraignment and not a day before. Check the newspaper; I'll be sure to have the press run it at least a day before." With that, he closed the carriage door and had his driver pull away.

Javert sighed, dejected. Not only was he a grotesque monster on the inside, now he was one on the outside as well. How could he expect Cosette to look at him, let alone live with him for several days? It wasn't fair to her. She deserved better. For the life she gave him, she deserved the pretty things she craved.

He plucked a flower out of their garden: a blooming red squill. While not usually indigenous to France, she had surprised him with her ability to make the grow. Just another way that she was amazing and kept his otherwise dreary and ugly world full of beauty. He sighed sadly, secretly hoping that she would have breakfast for him, even though every day she offered and every day he snapped at her, claiming to be too tired to care for food.

He sniffed a bit and winced both in pain, as his head gave a painful throb in protest, and in disgust as he realized his nose was bleeding again. He pulled out his handkerchief and held it to his nose. Loathe as he was to admit it to himself, he needed her today. He would need her care, her presence. She had always given both so willingly. But, how to ask for it? How to ask for such a precious gift – something that he had pushed aside again and again. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve her.

She looked up as soon as she heard the door open. She had heard a carriage pull up, and she suspected that it was him. She hated when he got home so close to sunrise. He should have been home hours earlier and when she realized that he had not come home when the clock struck six, she became nervous. Except on days when he worked overtime or double shifts, he was home at five in the morning. No exceptions.

"Javert!" she exclaimed, her book dropping to the floor as she stood and went to his side. "What happened? Are you all right?" she asked, gently fingers deftly moving over his arm, as though testing for protruding bones.

Shaking his arm free roughly, he took a step away from her. He felt his heart clench as he saw the look of confusion and then hurt in her eyes. "Cosette, I…" he started, but she cut him off.

"No. It's my fault. I'm sorry," she breathed, turning away from him. "I'll go get you tea," she said, her voice tight with poorly repressed emotion.

He sighed through his nose and closed his eyes against the pain that her tone had left in his heart. Again, he proved how little he deserved her. She had been providing the care that he so deeply craved and, yet, he pushed her away anyway.

With grunts and heavy, hesitant steps, he made his way to the sofa where he sat down as carefully as his throbbing knee would allow. He bent down and picked up the book Cosette had been reading. _Every woman her own doctress. _A curious title indeed. But, with a husband such as he, it was practical reading. It seemed that she would do her best to care for him no matter how much he retorted.

He grunted again the pain in his head and closed his eyes. He felt his head tilt forward and his chin meet his chest. He tried to fight against the inky blackness that filled his head, but it was too strong and powerless to stop it, he let sleep overtake him.

When he awoke, he realized he had been covered with a blanket. Cosette sat in a nearby chair, concentrating on her needlepoint and the sun was high in the sky, its yellow rays streaming through the window. He grunted as the pain that he had been feeling earlier came back.

She looked up from her needlepoint, caring blue eyes taking him in.

He looked back at her for a moment before dropping his gaze. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, realizing that his knee had locked up in his sleep.

"All morning. It's past noon. I can make you lunch if you would like," she offered gently.

The concern in her eyes was evident and it made him uncomfortable. He felt himself tense as he prepared to snap at her. But, he stopped himself. "Lunch would be nice," he relinquished with a sigh.

She looked at him again, questioningly this time. There seemed to be a question forming, but rather than asking it, she sighed and got up, setting her needlepoint to the side as she did so.

"I guess you want to know what happened," he said, guessing at the question in her mind.

"Of course," she said, coming to sit by him. Hands carefully placed in her lap, she did not get any closer to him than absolutely necessary.

He noticed the difference. Generally a tactile person, her touch was missed. The gentleness in her eyes, the softness in her voice – both came together and gentle fingers could caress away any ache or worry. Not that he ever told her that. Not that he ever gave her a reason to continue to touch him. And, now, it seemed that he had gone too far – that he had pulled away one too many times. He had known this arrangement was a bad thing from day one. He was breaking her. And it killed him to do it.

"We had been chasing a band of thieves. They had broken into the blacksmiths shop and taken a good many of his tools. Although they're worth a good deal, they are also heavy so they were slower on the getaway than they had intended." An idea crept into his head. If he did not want to break her – if he truly wanted to be there for her the way she had been there for him, he would have to do more than simply financially support her. "I was in pursuit, but could not wait for my back up detail lest I lose them. But, when I caught them, they were able to restrain me. Two men held me while the third…" he waved a hand at himself.

"Oh," she said, absentmindly reaching for him. "I'm so glad it wasn't much worse. Do you need to see a doctor?" she asked. As she did so, she realized what she was doing and put her hand back in her lap.

The motion made a cold chill run through him. For the first time in his life he felt like he needed touch. Specifically, he needed _her_ touch. He sucked in a short breath and reached for her hand. He expected her to shake her hand free… after all he had done it to her countless times. It was exactly what he deserved. He awaited the same rejection that he had given at least once a day, every day, since their union. The rejection he gave until she stopped trying. He feared that he caused her to die a little inside. He feared the damage that their union would do to her.

His head cocked to the side minutely as he realized that she had not rejected him. Rather, her silky hand grasped his gently, as her thumb ran over the top. She looked at him with a coy smile. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, which he pulled away from in pain. "Cosette," he went to explain.

"No, it's my fault. I'm sorry," she apologized, again, rising from the sofa.

"No, Cosette, you misunderstand," he rushed, trying to stop her from apologizing. Each apology hurt him deeper than his bruises and wounds. Each apology felt like a stab to the heart.

"I'll go get your lunch," she said, hurrying out of the room.

"Damn," he whispered, resting his head in his hand. It pounded against the movement and the pressure, but he didn't care. The pain he inflicted on her every step of the way was worse. He heard her apology over and over in his head. The instant regret in her words when he pulled away. The inability to listen to him before she fled the room. They were quite unlike her. Something was wrong. He cursed his knee as he went to get up and realized that he could not.

She came in several long minutes later with tea and toast. "When I know you have more of a stomach for it, I'll bring you more food," she said quietly. She kept her face carefully hidden behind her locks of hair and he had the sinking feeling that she had been crying.

"Cosette, look at me," he implored.

Red rimmed, glassy ice blue eyes and pinked nose stared back at him.

She had in fact been crying. He had done it. He made her cry. He felt as though his heart had turned to ice. It was the more horrendous thing that he could ever imagine doing – making the young beauty cry.

"My face hurts. That's why I pulled away," he mumbled, starting to reach for her, before he realized that she was picking up her needlepoint, but not sitting down. Rather she was putting it away.

"You do not need to lie. I will do what it is my responsibility to do," she said, her voice still holding the warble of tears.

"I do not lie!" he retorted harshly. "I am many things, Cosette, but a liar is not one of them!"

She looked at him sharply. "Yes, of course. I apologize." Her voice was taught with badly repressed anger.

He nodded. That apology was owed to him. Angry brown eyes took her in as he wondered where this would leave them. Would she become the nagging harpie that his coworkers described their wives as? Would she continue to speak to him at all? 

"I'll go get some things to dress your wounds," she said, the emotion gone from her voice.

When she came back, she sat down next to him on the sofa. She turned so that she was facing him completely, making it so he had to move very little. "I'm going to put a little turpentine in these. It'll sting, but it'll heal up quicker," she said as she dabbed his open wounds, causing him to hiss in pain.

"I don't know what to do about your knee, I'm afraid," she said, pointing to the leg that hadn't moved since he sat down.

"Only time can heal that," he explained, gently. "I don't have to be at work for several days, so it should give it time to heal."

She nodded and went to get up.

Without thinking, Javert reached up and cupped Cosette's cheek in his hand. It was sticky from where the tears had run down her face. He frowned he realized that she had closed her eyes and winced away as a reflex. She expected to be hit, he realized. And yet, she did not move; it was as though she was frozen in place.

"Cosette, open your eyes," he demanded.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Whatever it is, I won't do it again," she breathed, panicked in anxious anticipation of the slap that she knew was about to come. This was the same way Monsieur Thenardier had held her face as a child and she could not stop the dread from filling the pit of her stomach.

He removed his hand immediately. "I would never hit you," he assured her.

"Well I hurt you, so I deserve it," she said, standing in front of him.

She gasped in surprise when he grasped her hand and held it tightly. "No, you do not!" he snapped. "You do not deserve to be hit. Not by me, not by your father. Nobody had the right to hit you. You are an angel. And to hit an angel is an offense against God."

"An angel?" she asked, her voice timid as a child's. "That is quite a compliment," she stated quietly.

"It is. And I don't give compliment's lightly." He grunted a bit as he stretched his neck. He took a deep breath and collected his thoughts.

"Cosette, an arranged marriage is difficult. I am closer to your father's age than your own. I," he gasped as one of his wounds sent a sharp sting through his shoulder. Through squinted eyes, he could make out the look of concern she was giving him, but he deterred her with a gentle shake of his head. "I agreed to the marriage because… well never mind that…" Because it would get me futher down my career path was not the reason to get married that young ladies wanted to hear. "I spent a long time living alone and I was in the military before that. Never before has someone cared the way you do, and so I've been allowed to become rough around the edges and calloused. Please do not take this as an affront against you. You are everything that a man could want in a wife. But, I am simply not used to the affection and interest. Please don't consider what I'm doing as pushing you away from me. Think of it as me pushing myself away from you. "

She nodded. "You don't have to. I do rather fancy you," she admitted.

He nodded, "And, I you. But, I'm not – I'm – I'm not…" He took a deep breath. "I'm not used to being cared for in such ways. It's a learning experience."

"For both of us," she admitted. "Just… " She trailed off. "Let me get a few things to clean you up," she said. Her tone changed and she started to hurry out.

"Cosette!" he called after her.

She popped her head back into the room. "Hm?" she asked, her tone as happy as she could make it.

"Just what?" His tone was as gentle as he could make it. However, he could not keep the concern off his face. He was ready for her scorn. For her to unleash on him and tell her what a bastard he had been. Born in shame to a fortune teller in prison, causing her to cry had perpetuated that shame.

Her face fell. "Just don't be upset if you make me cry. I cannot stop feeling what I do for you any more than you can feel what you do not for me." She blinked rapidly as glittering tears graced her eye lashes.

Before he could respond, she moved away from the door.

He stretched his back over the sofa and looked down on himself. His knee _had_ completely locked. His stomach, once so flat and strong had become soft and lumpy in his middle age. Hair that was once brown now held flecks of gray. Without having to look in a mirror, he knew that wrinkles adorned his eyes and around his mouth. He was aging rapidly. He had never known the love of a woman – not since he became a ward of the state all those years before.

However, she loved him. She was ready to do anything for him. To be anything for him. She was ready to sacrifice her own happiness for his. He saw the way society wives and even common wives treated their husbands. There was shame in their tone and hostility and anger in their eyes. But, her… she looked at him with longing, with kindness. She wanted him to want to be with her. And, he was making her miserable. She deserved better. She deserved him to be a better man for her.

He felt his stomach contract with fear. Never before had he made himself so vulnerable. Never did he think that he could. But, he could – and he would. He would do it for her. Because she loved pretty things. And love was a pretty thing. And he had never had a pretty thing. Certainly, he had Cosette – even though he didn't deserve Cosette – but he spent his days among the dregs of the street. They treated their women like things – disposable, shameful things. Cosette was not a thing. She was a lady. He was lucky to have her. And, he would do anything not to be like the scum he swept off the streets.

She was back soon with dressings and sat down softly next to him. Long slender fingers brushed through her hair and pushed it over her shoulder.

He watched, eyebrows knit in concern as young hands, once so strong with confidence, trembled as she wet the linen with a bit of turpentine.

"This is going to hurt," she whispered, dabbing the edge against the open wound atop his eyebrow.

He closed his eye and winced, but did not pull away.

'…_what you do not feel for me…'_ Her words echoed in his head and he felt like a louse.

He let out a long slow breath as he tried to gather his thoughts, which were moving away as though taunting him to follow in some childish game. "I do love you," his whispered.

"No need to…" lie. The word died on her lips. Javert did not lie. She looked at him, confused.

"It's not a need," he said, responding to her partial statement as though it was stated in its entirety. "But, you have earned it. I'm not… I'm not a gentle man. I'm not used to the kindness of a woman. But, I appreciate it." He winced as his head throbbed. "I may not be affectionate, but I don't seek to hurt you. I rather enjoy your care. You are exemplary in that regard."

A soft gentle hand was placed on his forehead. "Do you feel ill?" she asked, tentatively.

"I am tired, yes. But, no. I am not ill. Verbalization of my feelings is not something I do willingly or well. But, I never want you to cry… or fear because of me. I will endeavor to be a better husband in the future."

Cosette was quiet for a long while. "Thank you," she whispered finally. A small smile graced her perfect pink lips. Perhaps there was more hope than she had anticipated after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Javert rode home in earnest. While the night had not been particularly active, he was eager to be free of it. A dusting of snow had fallen early in the evening and, although he couldn't show it, he was anxious to warm up. He and his counterpart – Andre- had stood guard over town hall all night. It was boring work for a man of his age and stature, but he suspected that he was expected to train Andre. Javert's keen eye for detail and cautious nature had caused the prefecture to send officers with less than stellar standards to him for training. As he road home, he wished he had such a person to model himself after for being a good husband.

The first several months had been exceptionally trying. He thought it would be enough to simply provide for his young bride. But, after he saw how much more effort she put into the marriage and to solidify their standing in society, he realized that he had been significantly lax. In fact, he had recently realized that the lack of attention and care he was paying Cosette made him just as monstrous as the scum that he sneered at every day for treating their wives like property. Though he had been worse in a way, he had ignored her until she started to retrain to stop tending to him. To take the angel who would marry him, care for him in sickness and health, and stand up to society vultures for him and turn her into a quiet, sullen, skiddish woman who expected to be beaten… A chill raced through him as the thought of what he had almost done made him nauseous.

He was still unable to be free with his emotions, but he had tried to be a little more liberal with his words by engaging her in conversation about her day. He was still remiss about telling her about his day, however. There were simply things that he didn't feel were right for a lady to hear about. He had to protect her. That need to protect was, in part, why they lived on the outskirts of town. It was a bit of a longer ride for him, but it kept her away from the stench and thieves that he saw so often.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips when he recalled reaching for her hand as she read a passage from the Bible, before he had left for work. It had been from Exodus: "Do not deny justice to your poor people in their lawsuits. Have nothing to do with a false charge and do not put an innocent or honest person to death, for I will not acquit the guilty." The strong words rolled so eloquently off of her tongue and while he would deny it to any crass enough to ask – he could not deny to himself that it was alluring. The smile completed as he recalled how she had accepted his hand and squeezed it ever so lightly. She looked up from the passage and held his gaze steadily.

Gazing into those crystalline blue eyes, he could detect a hint of worry and confidence. But the overwhelming emotion held with them was serious. She had squeezed his hand a bit harder before letting go. As he came up their street, he fancied that she was non-verbally telling him to come home safe.

Quickly, he shook his head of such thoughts. "You're starting to partake in tomfoolery," he admonished himself, putting his emotional mask back in place.

"Cosette!?" Javert called when he arrived at their house. Their home was modest at best: a four bedroom, with a sitting room in the front, a washroom on both levels, and a kitchen in the rear, looking out onto a few acres. The dining room was connected to the sitting room, with a long hallway that had entrances into each of the three rooms.

Generally, Cosette was in the sitting room doing needlepoint or putting away books that she pretended not to read. He still wasn't certain why she thought she needed to hide her intelligence. It was evident whenever she spoke that she was well read. He knew they would talk about that eventually. But, not tonight. Tonight he simply wanted to sit next to her and talk. He wanted to close his eyes and let the gentle tone of her voice lull him into a sense of comfort that he had never experienced before. He knew he would smile a bit when she asked him if he was all right and he would push a deep sense of guilt back down to the pit of his stomach and ignore the knowledge that he had revealed so little of himself to her that she didn't even know when she was doing well by him. He would change all that though. It would take time, but he could not let her live in doubt much longer.

When he did not hear her, his heart thudded in his chest. His mind burst into a hundred different scenarios. Did someone he jailed find out where he lived? Was she kidnapped? Was she visiting or with her Papa? Perhaps she was in the backyard.

Using his best street inspector voice, he called for her louder. Although his voice bounced off the walls and made the chandelier vibrate, he was still met with silence.

'_Has she left me?'_ he wondered. Had he waited too long to let her know how he appreciated her? Was she trying to tell him something else with the look she gave him before he left? Had he been too blind to see it?

He walked into the kitchen and immediately smelled it – blood. Sharp brown eyes scanned the room and nearly immediately saw Cosette lying on her stomach, her ear rested in a small pool of blood and her blonde hair was matted with it. Although he yearned to rush to her, he had to make certain the house was secure first. If she was attacked, he would have to make certain that there wasn't anyone lurking in the house for him.

His heart thudded in his chest as he tentatively looked through the house, checking each room – each closet. Finally, convinced that he was alone, he walked slowly over to the wife he was certain was dead. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor and he felt colder, more sullen with each step. Who had done this? Who would?

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He brushed some of her long locks off of her face, and found that not only was she warm to the touch, she was burning up. Beads of sweat had gathered along her hairline and she stirred at his touch with a soft moan.

He released a breath that he wasn't aware that he had been holding and felt as his heart beat sped back up. His heart felt like it was pounding in his ears. An ailment he could handle; her death, not so much.

With a gentleness he did not know he possessed, he turned her over. It appeared that she had hit her head when she fell, leaving a nasty gash that had stopped bleeding at some part of the day. He suddenly wished that they had a housekeeper. Cosette had asked for one only once, but he had thought it a waste of money. While he knew that their station was above one where Cosette should have to worry about things, he had considered it a terrible waste of money. Now however, as he held her in his arms, he decided to put an advertisement in the press at once.

"Cosette, please speak to me," he coaxed, rubbing her cheek with the back of his hand. He dared not use the pads of his fingers – they were so rough and calloused and she so fine and soft.

Her closed eyes squeezed even tighter shut and she opened them blearily. "Javert?" she asked softly. Her voice was but a whisper.

"Yes, honey, I'm here." Honey? That was new. He'd never used a term of endearment before. He flashed back to many years prior where his mother had called him honey and a few other nice things. But, he couldn't remember them – it was as though they were at the edge of his memories.

She let out a deep breath. "My apologies… I…" But, she passed out again before she could finish her sentence.

Cradling her head and pulling her knees up, he pulled her close. She weighed less than he expected her to and he frowned. He wondered how long she had been sick for and if she was hiding it. He thought back to when he had gotten out of bed that morning. Was she feverish then? He felt shamed in the knowledge that he did not know.

He placed her on the bed gently. His hands shook as he sat down next to her and brushed her hair off her face. Calloused hands fingered the gash on her head and she flinched away.

"My apologies," he said, pulling his hand back. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I'm not as good at this as you are. Please forgive me for the poor care you are about to receive. You deserve better." 

**Javert & Cosette**

"What happened?"

Javert pulled his eyes opened. He had sent a message to the doctor hours before. The portly man who came was barely worth his weight and Javert had practically stared him down when the man said that Cosette had a fever. Javert was told to do whatever it took to get the fever down, as it wasn't dangerously high, anymore, but it might get there again.

He had dozed in a chair that Cosette sometimes used for sewing. He wondered how often the young beauty had sat there and watched him sleep. He wondered how often she sat there and doubted herself… how often she had cried without his knowing. He wondered if she had cried that morning. Had she called out for help and none came?

He looked to the side and a grim smile graced his lips when he saw her father there. "The doctor says she's running a high fever, but she should recover."

Her father motioned for him to follow out of the room. He took another glance at Cosette; she seemed to be resting well enough.

He reluctantly joined her father in the hall.

"And what of the stitches on her forehead?" her father asked, accusingly.

In other circumstances, Javert would be hurt that such a horrendous thing could be thought of him. It was apparent that the older man thought he had hit Cosette. But, then he thought about how she had likely suffered and the pain she must have been in, bleeding on the cold stone floor while he was at work. He had done worse than hurt her; he had not been there for her when she needed him most. He knew were he in her father's place, he would think the same thing.

"She hit it when she fell," he admitted, working to stay his breath and allow his voice to come out softly, yet calmly.

The older man nodded gravely. He did not like to see his daughter in such a state, but was trying to be cognizant that the man in front of him was not to blame.

Javert did not know what to say. He wanted to assure Madeline that his daughter would be all right, but they were both too old to believe such a promise. The fact was that she may not be all right and that they wouldn't know until the fever broke.

"I've taken time off work to watch over her," Javert admitted.

Monsieur Madeline looked up at him, surprised. "I've never known you to do such a thing."

Javert nodded curtly. "It's happened once or twice due to illness or injury. But, in this case, she deserves the best care I can give her and I cannot do that if I am not here." Although he knew the fact of the matter was that spending money on a good nurse would give her much better care. The fact was that he couldn't get the vision of her lying on the stone floor out of her mind. He was too worried to let her out of his sight for very long.

A rustling.

He turned his head towards the door. Without thinking, he walked in – stepping away from the mayor in the process. Yes, the man had been kind enough to let him marry his daughter, but the fact was that daughter needed him to be there and he would do it. No matter how much it scared him that she would wake up and reject him for not being there when she needed him.

When he entered the room, he saw two ice blue eyes looking at him. A smile graced her lips as she looked at him.

"I'm a bit clumsy, eh?" she asked lightly.

"I'm just glad you're all right. You gave me quite a turn," he responded, sitting on the bed and lacing his fingers between hers.

Madeline watched from the doorway, his eyes glistening with joy that Javert and Cosette were starting to grow together. He knew it was a risk – he would never be called ValJean again. His daughter would never know the truth about her mother. But, it did seem to be making his old predator more human and his daughter was content enough.

"My apologies to worry you. You probably want to be at work. Call my papa. He'll take care of me."

Javert's breath was caught in his chest. "If that is what you would prefer…"

"Cosette, I'm so happy to see you awake," Madeline said walking in.

Cosette's smile grew when she saw her father. "Papa," she whispered.

"I was just coming to check on you," he said, standing behind Javert so that the man could not retreat. "But, I see that Javert has kept a watchful eye on you. I expect no less from the Inspector." He gave Javert a small smile. "Javert has been relieved of duty to care for you," he continued on.

She looked at her husband incredulously. "Really?" she couldn't imagine him doing such a thing.

"You are the most important person in my life. I need to make certain you are safe on your feet before I return."

She smiled at the two men before her, and her eyes slipped closed again.


	5. Chapter 5

The rough edges of the bristles of Javert's beard tickled the edges of his nostrils and his nose twitched involuntarily. He sniffed gently as he breathed in an effort to quickly and quietly dispel with the annoyance. He stood at attention, hands clasped firmly behind his back, as he listened to the commendation that he was to be awarded for superior service. On the tail-end of an illness that had rendered his wife bedridden for several long weeks, he had been livid and gone back to work weeks before she was well, under the auspice that she'd be better cared for by her father.

He had felt like a heel, but the truth of the matter was that he felt so helpless: watching the fever rage within her body, watching the doctor apply one chloroform treatment after another, watching her apologize for every little thing that she was certain he was cross at her about. Even though he had work himself, the mayor had graciously switched off with him, allowing Javert to watch his angel sleep during the day and attend work at night. Sometimes, Javert would awaken to see the mayor watching them from the doorway. He remembered how angry he had been to be watched in his home without his knowledge. But, in a moment of lucidity, Cosette had asked if he was upset with her father was there or upset with himself for not hearing him. She told him not to let the fear take hold and to know that their house was secure, moreso because her papa was there.

Such light. Such life. So much love from such a small person. That night had been the first that he held her close and allowed himself to comfort her and allow her to be comforted. Were he there that night, he would also know that it was also the first night that she claimed to be hungry.

He had not felt like a good husband then for leaving. Conversely, he did not feel like he deserved commendations now for being absent. However, the prefecture thought otherwise and was having a ceremony with small gala afterwards to commemorate him. To say he was uncomfortable with the whole prospect could easily be called the understatement of the century. However, he simply nodded curtly. "Thank you, commendant," he replied simple, allowing a small smile to grace the corners of his lips. A promotion of this sort came with a raise and he was one step closer to becoming an inspector, as he wished to be. He would be able to support Cosette as she deserved eventually.

Another involuntary twitch of a too sensate nostril. This one he noticed as the itch spread throughout his nose and down his throat. '_Oh no,_' he thought miserably. The rainy season was upon them, which brought out the most beautiful flowers of the season… he was well aware of what came with that.

No sooner was he released than he strode outside, steps hastening out of the building into the oppressive damp heat. One breath and his already irritated nose had enough. "HetfretCHOO!" The force of the sneeze rocked him forward, and he was grateful that no one was standing there. It would have been quite unbecoming for a new Captain of the Officers of Paris to sneeze on some unsuspecting citizen. He felt as though the front of his head was filling up with thick liquid and moved his jaw in order to pop his ears.

Withdrawing his handkerchief he sneezed stuffily into it. The pollen in the hot damp air made him sneeze and his eyes run every year. Every year he suffered through weeks of embarrassing and horribly repressed symptoms. But, this year was worse. This year he had a young wife to attend to. He had a ball to prepare for, for which he would need his recovering wife's assistance. He had a running nose that refused to permit him to breath properly. And, he had to look respectable while coping with the sneezing, coughing, running eyes and nose and raw throat, which would keep him from sleeping and steal his breath away. In essence, he had a non-contagious flu that he had to convince those closest to him did not really exist. He was not looking forward to any of it.

By the time he arrived home, his head felt as though it was filled with mercury. The liquid was heavy in his head and changed the pressure with each bump of the carriage. He sneezed violently, it tossing him forward as the coach rattled beneath him. As they left the confines of town, he allowed himself to rest backwards. Having a driver to and from work had seemed like an unimportant perk when he had first heard about the finer points of his elevation. But, as the weight of his allergies settled on him, he rather preferred it to having to suppress his symptoms while riding his own horse through town. Although Gymont was a fine steed, and he knew he could just about pass out on his back without falling, what the townspeople would say bothered him greatly. He shuddered and sniffed thickly. Turning to the side he covered his nose and mouth with his now damp handkerchief and sneezed respectably. But, the force of the sneeze was not enough to ride his nose of the tickle and so three smaller sneezes worked their way out. Blowing his nose as strongly as he could muster he groaned when it afforded him very little relief.

When he arrived home, Cosette was at the door waiting for him. He outstretched one of his arms to her and pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead. He stepped back and looked her over, his critical glance falling on every feature. She looked thinner to his eyes and it worried him. He knew her father had tea with her every day, but he wondered if they were keeping something from him. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice husky.

She looked him over with her own critical look. "I am," she replied, her lips thinning concernedly. "Are you –"

Before she could even finish her sentence, he broke free from her, tugging his handkerchief from his breast pocket. "HetSCHOO!" he sneezed loudly. He tried, again, to blow his nose a bit. But, the pressure wouldn't relent. "Heh-ugh-Hesssh!" Blood rushed to his face as he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're ill? I should have known. You've run yourself too ragged lately."

He coughed, feeling a hot scratchy feeling travel from his throat to his ears. "No. The pollen… the air… heh-Eehh-SCHOO!" He stumbled with the force of the sneeze and braced his shoulder against the wall as several smaller sneezes worked their way out.

She clicked her tongue as she watched his generally strong, controlled form collapse under the weight of his allergies. Even when he was violently ill, he always seemed to be in control. In this case, he was helpless to stave off the sneezing, which she was certain brought on more discomfort than he was letting on. She placed a soft hand on his shoulder and smiled a bit when he did not shake it off. "Come," she whispered, ignoring the instinct to take him by the elbow. _'It's merely an allergy,'_ she told herself.

Depositing him at their small kitchen table, she went to heat the water.

"How are you feeling, Cosette?" he asked a bit too formally.

"I'm recovering," she answered honestly. "Anything of note happen at work today?" She had yet to tell him that she knew each case that he worked on, each thing that he said that rubbed someone the wrong way. He did not understand the concept of society eaves dropping and rumoring. But, it was apparent that his considered his work something that was his alone. She let him have it. She couldn't imagine how betrayed he would feel to discover that she knew more about him than she was letting on.

"I've been elevated to Captain. From now on I will be escorted to work and my stipend will increase." The familiar tickle was back. He dipped his head forward, trying to release the pressure before he did so, messily, in her kitchen.

She turned to face him, her eyes bright with pride. "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you," she said joy filling her voice..

"Pride is a sin, Cosette," he admonished without thinking. Guilt gripped his heart as he watched the joy dull in her eyes. "But, I appreciate the sentiment," he corrected before she could apologize to him.

To mask the hurt, she turned her back on him. "When will the ceremony be?" she asked. The joy had gone from her voice.

"Saturday. There will also be a… a… heh-eh…" He pinched his nose closed hoping that the offending tickle would be crushed. Instead, the action only caused his nose to itch and burn. His eyes started to tear as he reached for his handkerchief. Unfortunately, there was not enough time. "HeSSSH-TCHOO! Esshooo! Estcchoo! KetCHOO!" Hands clamped over his streaming nose, he winced as the spray hit them. He tried to sniffle, but found himself quite unable to as the action produced another wet sneeze, "HetsCHSHOO! Ugh…"

To her credit, Cosette came to his aid, supplying a hand on his forehead – to test for a fever no doubt, and put her finely embroidered handkerchief on the table. As she returned to the stove, he snatched it up and blew his nose wetly. "Blessings. Are you certain that you'll be well enough for a ceremony by Saturday?"

He waited until he was quite certain that he had his nose under control before answering. "Well enough …" He paused. The ball had him concerned. Cosette was still so frail. What if she relapsed?

"What is it?" she asked, setting down tea for the two of us. Two lovely but observant eyes took him in. The strong demeanor, the fine lines of exhaustion that marked his face, the bit of stubble outside the normal lines of his beard, the way he avoided her eyes.

"There will also be a ball… I will need to dance," he said. His gaze remained steadily on the table as he peeled away a layer of vulnerability.

"Oh, I do love to dance. Although I'm sure you think it's a sin…" she offered. "Would you mind terribly if I danced with others? I know it's not the most proper thing, but … well… I enjoy it a good deal."

She didn't understand. "I – I, uh…" he shook his head. "I don't mind. But… well… as you know it's proper for the elevated to dance."

"Of course," she said. "I did not mean to indicate that I would not dance with you."

"No, you misunderstand." He clamped the handkerchief over his face and sneezed heavily again. He swiped at his nose and moustache. "I don't… I can't dance, Cosette." Vulnerable brown eyes looked at her.

"Oh, Javert," she said, putting a hand on his wrist. "I can teach you."

** Cosette & Javert**

"Right… no, don't move to the right. That is to say you are doing this correctly."

After his tea, Javert had opted for a nap, which turned into him sleeping for most of the day. Cosette was not surprised by this. He had been so exhausted and she knew how difficult it was for him to be vulnerable. She smiled when she thought of teaching him to dance. When he awoke, he wanted to get right to it and she was looking forward to it.

Two hours later though, they had barely gotten through the waltz, his Gavotte was a mess, and she had just about given up on his country dancing.

"If you would just be consistent with your verbiage, I would get this much quicker!" he snapped, instantly regretting it. But, before he could say any sort of apology, he turned sharply, sneezing abruptly. The wet spray hung in the air a moment before dropping out of the sunlight.

"Perhaps we should take a break," Cosette suggested. She was wearing out, being far less recovered from her ailment than she had been letting on. She still felt weak and dizzy for long parts of the day. But, she seldom had this much activity.

"Please don't treat me like a child. I will let you know when I need to break," Javert commanded, his voice every bit that of a Captain.

Cosette nodded. "Of course. Shall we go back to doing the waltz? You were starting to get that." And she didn't need to be think about it, as she had been doing it since she was a little girl.

A slow nod of his head. Javert presented himself to her in a respectfully low bow and she did the same with a curtsey to match his timing. He stepped forward waiting for her to do the same. A gentle hand rested just above the small of her back, as she rested hers on his upper arm. He cupped her hand delicately, and smiled. This really was starting to make sense. They moved in tandem, each trusting the other to do what was expected.

Cosette was drowned in a sea of fuzzy dots. She could barely stand, let alone guide him. But, he didn't seem to need her assistance much. On the contrary, he was keeping time well enough for her to lead him into a faster pace. He kept up well and she felt her eyes drift closed. She trusted him completely.

Suddenly, she heard his breath hitch. Blue eyes snapped open and looked at her dashing husband.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips closed. It was embarrassing enough that he didn't know how to dance. But, he would not sneeze on the angel who was kind enough to make certain that society accepted him as someone worthy of being a Captain. "Javert…" She slowed the tempo to a stop.

Letting go of her abruptly, he whirled around. "Heh-Shesshhh-Shhh! Hep-Tes-TCHOO!" Again, he sneezed freely, but this time stumbled.

She came up behind him and put a hand on his back and shoulder. "Come now. I'll make you some tea. We'll have lunch. I need a rest, please." It was true.

Watery brown eyes looked at her from over his handkerchief. A nod and another stuffy sneeze.

"You know," she said, bringing him tea and putting a few finger sandwiches between them, "should you need to sneeze during a dance, you can't pull away from me like that. With the other couples on the floor, you're likely to crash into someone. Or sneeze on them."

A vibrant flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks as he busied himself with sipping his tea.

"How long do your allergies typically act up?" she asked, trying a different conversational tactic.

"Into mid-November," he responded gruffly.

"Oh dear," she said lightly. "Well, we'll have to keep practicing until we find a way for you to sneeze-"

"What?" he cut her off. "Gracefully? You've seen my sneezes. They're loud and messy." The flush remained in his face. "I feel no need to make a fool of myself." Even if he could get these dances memorized, sneezing all over his wife or whatever partner deemed him worthy of their companionship would humiliate him greatly.

"Dearest," she paused. She had not yet used a term of endearment with him and she immediately regretted it. But, she couldn't correct her folly, so she pressed on. "We will find a way. I will not permit you to be humiliated by society."

He grunted.

"Have I ever humiliated you before?" she asked, touching him lightly on the hand.

"Not publically," he admitted absently.

She blinked for a moment but decided to let it go. "Then trust me that I will do whatever it takes to make you appear to be the charming, strong, commanding man I see you as."

A quiet nod was his only response.

**Cosette & Javert**

Javert walked the streets of Paris, back straight and eyes sharp as a hawks. Little things stood out to him, shadows that did not line up, clouds that rolled too slowly by, a basket moving across the street with no wind. His lip curled as he spied the small fruit thief that had been alluding the market for some time now. "Stop thief!" he barked and set to running after him.

The young boy stopped where he was and held the basket over him.

'Well this is new', Javert thought to himself, having expected the young boy to run away from him not stop where he was.

Striding over with confident steps he picked up the basket.

Quick as a flick, the boy threw something into his face, causing him to stumble backwards as his eyes and nose began to water. Pollen. It was a gamble, but the young man had his number and he was overcome by a bout of loud wet sneezes, which did not relent until long after he pulled himself into an alleyway and let the fit run its course.

**Cosette & Javert**

"My goodness! What happened!" Cosette exclaimed as he came in the door, puffy eyed and red nosed. His commanding officer had thought it best that he go home as he was not fit to be on street detail. In fact, much to Javert's dismay he was not to return to work until after the ceremony. It was the hope that his new rank, his new uniform and the power that came with it would dissuade the situation from happening again.

"Heh-…" He was tired of this. Tired of the sneezing and the red eyes that threatened to close on him. His face felt hot, flushed with the allergen and humiliation. Turning to his side he sneezed heavily into a well used handkerchief. "Hep-TESSHOO!… heh… heh… HepSHESSHOO!" He groaned and blew his nose.

"Oh no… not at work?" she asked, tenderly removing his handkerchief from his hands and giving him her softer more delicate one.

"Worse," he wheezed, preparing again to sneeze. "HarESSH! ESHH! UguaphTSCHOO!" The final sneeze through him forward, but Cosette deftly caught him by his arm and shoulder. "Come now, into the tub. I'll get the coals ready for a shower. Let's see if we can't get some of this pollen off of you, yea?"

His face crashed into her handkerchief with a breath stealing sneeze.

"The Captain relieved me of ah-Hak-ISHHOO! duty until after the – cere-cer-ceremony… ItcSHOO!"

She frowned and took him in seriously. His superior officer was right to do so. She hoped that no other street urchins were watching. She thought of how Monsieur Thenardier would have taken advantage of such knowledge.

"Well, don't soak in the tub. I don't want that stuff on you any more than it needs to be." The air around them was becoming thick with the heavy oppression of oncoming rain. "Perhaps it'll rain tonight and make the air more breathable.

She watched him strip, cautious eyes taking in the scars that marred his body. Without a word, she took his uniform and put it in a bag to be laundered later.

"Do you need assistance?" she asked, wary that sneezing so much and so hard could make him dizzy.

"No, I have control over my body still." As if in objection, three harsh wet sneezes barreled out of him, causing him to reach out a hand against the wall. Resting his forehead against it, he was amazed at how cool it felt. He tried to sniffle, but it did no good. He was stuffed up and nothing but more sneezing was going to relieve that.

"Come," she said, starting the water and gently helping him into the bath.

He did not protest and allowed her to stand in the room as he scrubbed the offending pollen off of him.

**Cosette & Javert**

Cosette was completely worn out. Javert's allergy made him uncomfortable, which in turn made him grouchy. He was snapping at her for the smallest of things and she didn't have her normal fortitude to cope with them. Finally, he agreed to rest with her on the couch as she did her needlepoint.

"Her-CHOO! ISSSSHHH! Hik-ESSHOO!" He grunted angrily as he tried to blow his nose, resulting in a tired swipe. His nostrils flared an angry pink and he mumbled about something having to do with a street rat and the law. He settled for rubbing a finger under his nose and sighing in defeat.

"Blessings," Cosette offered softly. She did not wish to call attention to his frequent and violent sneezing, but she could not forgo propriety either.

"Truly, if you continue doing that then you will lose your voice before the ball. And then what shall I do?"

"Be happy that my incessant nagging has ceased?" she asked throwing words from earlier back at him. She had been trying to get him to drink tea. More tea. And then still more tea. She thought if they could hydrate him enough the congestion may release. He snapped at her causing her to slam the teapot down and escape to the sitting room. He had not apologized. She did not expect him to.

He sighed deeply, coughing huskily for his effort. He had not meant to snap at her and he did not expect her reaction. She was always so gentle even when he was harsh with her. He was truly seeing a side of her that he had never before – he enjoyed it greatly. "YIH-Shoo! SHESSH! Ugh…" He blew his nose and rested back again, too tired to even read scripture; too chastised to ask Cosette.

"Bless you," she whispered, not looking up.

"Thank you," he grumbled in return.

**Cosette & Javert**

"COSETTE!?" Javert bellowed when he awoke. He knew that it was morning, for he could feel the ever oppressing heat and humidity that followed. He needed it to rain to finally clear himself of his tormentor. But, first he needed to be able to see.

Inky blackness filled him and no matter how hard he tried to open his eyes or look this way and that, he was unable to see even the faintest ray of light. He heard her footfalls on the stairs and come into the room.

"I can't see!" he exclaimed with far more anxiety than he had meant to. What had that urchin blown into his face?

He felt the bed divot and Cosette's cool hand on his face. "Oh my," she said, running a gentle finger over his swollen to the point of bruising eyes.

He flinched away at her touch and she shushed him.

"Don't move," she said. "I'll be right in with a cool cloth and we'll see what we can do."

He reached out for her hand, pleased that he caught it in one try. "Don't leave," his whispered, imploringly. How would he thrive without the use of his sight? How would Cosette survive? He knew he was useless – nothing – without his job. But, his career was based on his keen eyesight and now it was gone.

She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. "I'm only going into the next room," she assured him. "I will be back momentarily." She began to hum as she moved about, so that he could hear her, and she saw his features visibly relax.

She came in with a basin of cool water. Dipping a cloth in it, she wrung out the excess and gently, pressed his shoulder to get him to lay back down.

"This could not come at a worse – EtcSHOO! – time. Oh my dear, I'm sorry…" He had raised his hand to catch the sneeze, but no spray hit it.

"You didn't sneeze on me. Now just relax." She was pleased that she recalled when her father had a similar allergic reaction and could not figure out where to catch his sneezes either. She had learned then where the safest places to care from were.

She placed the cool cloth over his eyes. "Just rest there. Your allergen got into your eyes then, yes?"

He grunted in the affirmative.

"It's just swollen your eyes closed. We'll get them open and it out in no time. I think I have some rhubarb oil somewhere here."

He cocked his head to the side. "What of the oil?"

"We mix it with turpentine and rub it over your eyes. The doctors would actually use a cotton swabbed stick to clean your eyes directly, but I do not have the skill for such a procedure."

"No."

"Javert it will sting, but it will make your eyes water. That's what's needed for this.

Both hands clasped over his nose and mouth as a violent sneeze caused him to be thrust forward.

Her heart went out to him, it really did. The next day would be the most important ceremony of his life. She only hoped that he would be well enough to enjoy it.

Several hours later, Javert came down the stairs. The puffiness in his eyes had abated considerably, although they still looked inflamed and sore.

"I was wondering where you went," he said, coming into the sitting room.

She put aside her needlepoint with a small yawn. "I was tired, but did not want to disturb you. I came down here to rest and only awoke myself a few minutes ago."

"You're not a disturbance," he whispered, settling himself next to her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, ignoring his kind words. Exhaustion was seeping into every fiber of her being. Although he had said he put an advertisement for a house-woman, any time she asked, he said that he did not find someone good enough. She wished he had. She was so tired.

"Hm, a bit." He looked her over. She looked tired, too much for someone who had said they just awoke. "Are you well, Cosette?" he asked.

"Just tired. Recovery is taking longer than I would prefer I'm afraid. Don't worry, I won't let it interfere with my duties to you." With that, she got up and went into the kitchen to prepare a simple supper.

He thought about what she had said. She was never lacking in her duties to him. But, if she needed assistance, than he was lacking in his duties to her. The thought of her passing out again was more than he could bear and he made a mental note to put the advertisement in the paper, as he had promised her he would.

After another nap, he woke in considerably better spirits. "Cosette," he said, looking at the young beauty beside him. Apparently, she had not moved during his nap. "I will need your assistance preparing for tomorrow evening. Indeed we still need to figure out how I should be able to sneeze while dancing. And… who to speak with and such."

"Well everyone will want to speak with you, as you are the guest of honor," she said, not looking up. "But, there are a few people who you should be wary of. This includes any wife of any of your officers – above or below you. Wives are who gossip, husbands are where the information comes from. You need not worry about our personal life or anyone wondering about children. That issue has been handled and no one with the sense God gave a billy goat would ask. Papa will be there, so you shouldn't worry about me. I've spent many years in this society. I know what is expected of me and what I can handle. When you are up for it we'll review the waltz, gavotte, older country dances, and perhaps I'll even teach you the polka. In each case, you'll be asked to dance and you'll need to know how to properly sneeze."

He sighed. She was right of course. Sneezing in the face of a woman would be horrific for both of them, and could hurt Cosette's standing even more than her being married to someone who worked already did. He would never put her into high society. But, he could do his best not to humiliate her with the lesser aristocrats.

Handkerchief in hand, he stood before her. She had said she was recovering. Hadn't she recovered? And why didn't he know what her current state of recovery was? Turning to the side, he brought the handkerchief to his nose and mouth. "HuWUFfa!" He sniffed making certain that wouldn't happen again. "Pardon me. Allergies," he said, as though he was speaking to someone not his wife.

"It tis the season. Are you certain you're up for this?" she asked, acting like a polite lady, hoping the ladies in attendance would give him that courtesy.

"Of course," he stated with a nod.

They rocked slightly until Javert was ready. They did several turns around the room. Her heart lifted as she realized that he had remembered the lessons. He lead her well and watched to make certain they didn't hit anything. A wet sniffle pulled her out of her thoughts.

Javert bit his lips closed. "Itshiff!" The sneeze snuck out and he sneezed it to the side they had come from.

"Are you all right?" she asked, turning out of the spin as he let her go suddenly.

"Ahh-SHUff! Huh-WUFfa! Heh-eh-shaaa…. HeSHEOO!" He coughed stuffily and panted.

She kept her distance until he stood up again. "Well.. now we know that dancing and stifling do not work well together."

He sat down, sweat rolling down his face.

She came in front of him and knelt down in front of him. Putting her hands on his knees, she waited until he was ready to make eye contact with her. "You will only dance the polka, gavotte, and waltz with me. If you sneeze near me, it'll be all right. You'll be permitted to keep your handkerchief in your hand and I'll hold your wrist. Or, keep it in your breast pocket and we'll slow when the sneezing hits."

He sighed, stuffy coughs escaping as he did so. He wanted to retort that it wasn't necessary. But, it was. And he was appreciative. He nodded his head in agreement.

Smiling, she pulled him to his feet. "Come, I'll teach you the country dances."

**Cosette & Javert**

The hall was done up in the brightest flowers that the fall had to offer. Blues, reds, and yellows adorned the eaves and crystal drop chandeliers were lit, the orange glow ready to cast eerie shadows around the room as the sun went down. The flowers were the first thing that Cosette noticed when she walked in. Their collective scents smelled like trouble to her. Years before, she would have been taken in by the delightfully fresh scent during such a hot and moist time. But, if Javert's congestion was relieved for as much as a few seconds, he would be humiliated by a messy scene.

"It's beautiful, Captain," she said, coming up to Javert's commanding officer, Vidocq, and kissing him on the cheek. "Whomever did you find to decorate it in such a fine array of flowers?"

"My wife stepped up to the task," he said gently, holding his arm open for his wife to be greeted. Cosette smiled, her eyes betraying how unamused she was by his wife's choice. Certainly her husband had mentioned why Javert had gone home. Or had he? Typically there were sewing circles, where the women gossiped idly about the information given to them by their husbands. However, with Javert being so ill, she had not attended this week.

"Your skills are most eloquent," she said, careful not to mention which skills she was referring to.

"Of course!" Madame Vidocq answered, her eyes showing the cruelty within. Cold grey eyes flit over Javert as he kissed her hand. "I kept it simply elegant for you, Captain Javert," she explained. "I do hope you are well enough to enjoy the ceremony."

So she knew. Cosettes eyes narrowed and her smile tightened. She would not forget this. "I'm sure we will. After all, the decorations accent our national colors well. Their uniforms," she said, looking over at the dress uniforms the men wore, "will be simply radiant in contrast to the yellow. And, your sense of simple style will make certain that people focus on the ceremony. I thank you for that." Her statement was riddled with politely stated small digs, and she meant each one of them.

As they walked away, Cosette's arm entwined in Javerts, he reached over and held her with his second hand. "Thank you for that. I could not accuse her of doing anything malicious," he whispered.

"But, I can. And I won't forget it. Will you be all right?" she whispered back, pulling him to stand near an open door.

"They are dropping pollen – I can see it in the air." He sniffed congestedly. "Luckily, I cannot smell a thing."

Kissing him lightly on the cheek she whispered in his ear, "My poor dear. Should you feel unwell, let me know and I will make certain we retreat early."

He smiled, proud to be her husband for the first time. They were a partnership and they would get through this together.

**Cosette & Javert**

Javert was able to contain his itchy nose throughout the whole ceremony. Barely a sniffle was given when he received his Captaincy and faced the room, all applauding his advancement. He pressed his eyes together as he bowed to the crowd and a few tears leaked out.

Cosette heard the emotional response from the crowd, but she was not impressed. Rather she was intensely worried. To the best of her knowledge, Javert was not capable of tears – his heart, though not as hardened as she once thought – had jaded him from such emotions many years before. She looked up and saw the pollen dusting the crowd. She heard a few other sneezes and coughs from around the room and couldn't help but hope that Madame Vidocq was one of them.

She smiled when he joined her and a receiving line formed. "Are you well?" she whispered.

"I can hold out a bit longer, but I will need a – a moment," he said, shaking the hand of one of his comrades.

"Would you like me to walk with you before the dancing starts?" She knew of a little stream nearby and was certain that if they could get the pollen off of him, he would be able to handle the rest of the night better.

"I would," he answered with a curt nod, as he forced a smile to an older lady who he didn't know but who seemed rather intent on kissing him on the cheek and feeling his hip.

Fifteen minutes later, he could barely contain his sneezing and his breath became erratic. Feigning a dizzy spell, Cosette asked him to take her outside, where they walked to the perimeter of the grounds.

"HisssTCHOO!" he sneezed rather wetly. Three more followed and he found himself out of breath and grasping onto Cosette's arm for balance.

"Just rest," she said, sitting him on the low stone wall.

"Hik-HeptCHOO!" He blew his nose wetly. "TisssSHOO!" A stuffy cough worked its way out and he seemed rather exhausted all of the sudden.

"Oh, love," she said, coming up to him, her handkerchief wet with water from the stream. "You have to make it through h'or deurves and dancing. Do you think you'll be all right?"

"Of course. This is merely a sneeze. I'm only out here for your benefit. I don't actually need you or the reprieve," he snapped to hide his vulnerability.

Cosette straightened immediately. "As you wish it," she said, her voice taught and angry. "Be in within five minutes. Do at least one dance with me. Then we'll leave when you are ready." With that, she swept back inside.

"You dolt," he whispered to himself, his voice husky with congestion. "What have you done now?"

**Cosette & Javert**

Cosette was looking out the window, hands clasped firmly behind her back. She was dizzy from fatigue and trying desperately not to lose consciousness, lest she embarrass Javert.

"You've over-taxed yourself," a gentle voice said.

She smiled and looked at her father with loving eyes. "Just a bit. But, Javert is doing well," she said, stealing a glance over to him.

Her father looked at the newest Captain of the police force of Paris. He looked flushed, his nose an increasing shade of pink. The man had developed a bit of a sniffle as the night wore on, but his sneezing had been infrequent, so no one thought that he was ill. "He is," he agreed. "I'm sure he has you to thank for that."

She shook her head lightly, golden tresses bouncing about her shoulders. "No. He doesn't need me. He'd do just fine on his own."

Her father raised an eyebrow, but she didn't see it. She also hadn't seen how worried Javert had been when she was ill. The man had come to love her. But, it was suddenly incredibly obvious that he had yet to tell Cosette such things.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head. "Don't overdo. If you need to rest, you'll come home with me tonight and I'll bring you home tomorrow."

She looked at him kindly. "Thank you, papa," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and walking away. She needed to get to the ladies parlor room. She had to sit down. She was just so tired.

Meanwhile, her father came and interrupted the conversation that Javert was having.

"Monsieur le Maire," the group welcomed him.

"Do excuse me, as I have an important matter to discuss with our newest Captain. Javert, will you please accompany me outside?"

Pardoning himself to the other guests, Javert nodded in the affirmative and followed out of the building.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold outdoors than did Javert unfurl his handkerchief and bring it up to his face. "Hed-Tchoo! Hesschhoo!" He breathed heavily. "Do forgive me, Monsieur le Maire. What is it I can do for you?"

"Blessings. Are you quite well?"

"Nothing to be concerned over," he said, putting away the handkerchief. "Now, how can I assist you?"

"Captain, what would you call a man who abuses his wife?"

"A coward," Javert responded without hesitation.

Monsieur le Maire nodded. "And what would you call a man who seeks to harm his wife?"

"A coward," Javert answered, slower this time.

Again, Monsiuer le Maire nodded. "And, what would you call a man who puts his own health and well-being before that of his wife?"

"Oblivious. For no man who sees what his wife needs would willfully ignore her," he answered. He nonchalantly swiveled to so that he could see the inside of the ball. Careful eyes scanned the outside grounds as well. Where had Cosette gone? What was her father playing at?

"Hm, yes. And what would you call a man whose wife places her own health before his?"

"Lucky," he responded, although truth be known, he did not believe in luck.

Monsieur le Maire leaned in. "Then stop being oblivious and realize how lucky you are," he said darkly before going inside. "Now come. There is dancing to be had."

Walking back inside, Javert's insides ran cold as he realized that he did not know where Cosette was. He thought back to the odd riddles. Had her health failed? If so, where was she?

The music started and he was immediately asked to dance a simple country dance. He nodded and joined his partner on the floor, all the while observant brown eyes scanned the room for Cosette.

**Cosette & Javert**

"Cosette… Cosette… you must wake up," a kind voice that reminded Cosette of tinkling bells whispered.

Cosette pulled her tired eyes open and squinted at the lovely lady standing in front of her. She had long brown hairs, done up in high curls that would have been fashionable a century before. Her pink dress was simple, but there was a locket around her neck, one that she always said contained her most precious memory.

"Marguerite?" Cosette asked, her voice bleary as she felt.

"I know you're tired, angel, but you have to be awake. Javert is looking for you," the kind voice told her.

Cosette was surprised. Marguerite was her imaginary friend growing up. She hadn't seen her in years. She felt as though her heart was slowing. She was sinking into something. She didn't know if she could wake up anymore. She wasn't certain if she wanted to. "No he's not," she whispered, trying to drift back to sleep. "He's busy. He got what he wanted from our marriage. Now that he's a Captain, he doesn't need me anymore. I could fade away right now and he'd never notice I was gone."

"Excuse me. Are you all right?" a voice with a strong Irish accent asked.

Cosette pried her eyes open. A woman with pale freckled skin and brilliant red hair that was coming out of her bun was looking down at her.

"Oh, yes. I apologize. I must have drifted off," Cosette said, sitting up. She felt ill as her stomach twisted and her vision swam before her.

"If you're unwell, I can get your husband or your father," the woman offered kindly.

Cosette looked her over. She had never seen the woman before. And, normally, such offers did not come without repercussions. "I'll be all right," she said, although she wasn't certain that she believed it.

"Please let me get your escort. Who is he?" the woman asked, pressing Cosette's shoulder so that she stayed sitting.

Cosette blinked at her. "You're new. What's your name?" she asked.

"Molly. I'm the new wife of Lieutenant Sedect."

"Congratulations," Cosette said, still trying to get her bearings about her. "Louis is a fine man. He works under my husband… Captain Javert."

A small noise escaped Molly. "Begging your pardon, miss. I meant no harm," she said, nervously moving towards the mirror.

Cosette squinted at her. "Why are you acting differently?" she asked. Such things were not common within the social group.

"Your husband out ranks mine. I shouldn't even be talking with you. Please don't …"

"Shh!" Cosette said, trying to stay the craziness. "I am not angry. I'm touched. It's just so exhausting," she said, coming up behind Molly and fixing her hair.

When she was done, Molly turned and smiled at her. "Thank you, miss."

"Cosette. Call me Cosette," she said, fixing her own hair and walking back into the room.

She frowned when she realized that the dancing had started. Tired eyes scanned the room and found her husband dancing a country dance with a pretty young lady, likely the daughter of one of his superiors. He did not seem to be sneezing much, and she noticed that rain had started to fall outside. Finally, his torment was ending. And she didn't have to be there for it to happen. The reality of the situation took her breath away.

Finally the dance ended and Javert made his way towards her. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking her hands in his own. They were like ice and he frowned. How oblivious had he been?

"I'm fine," she whispered hurriedly. "Javert, this is Molly. She's Lieutenant Sedect's wife. Molly, this is Captain Javert." Her voice, which had begun so strongly tapered off to a whisper.

The two exchanged pleasantries, but Cosette couldn't hear it. She was dizzy and short of breath. One waltz. If she could get through one waltz, then Javert would be set up for success and she could fade to oblivion. He wouldn't notice. He would be happier. It would all be well.

The dance master called for a waltz and Cosette smiled. "Waltz with me?" she asked, her voice crackling under the strain.

Javert's stomach twisted in anxiety. "Are you quite sure you are well enough?" he asked, knowing that she was not.

"Just one waltz. And then I'll go… home… with papa…" she said, her mind failing her.

Javert frowned. She had pushed far too hard. He had let her. "Molly, would you please get Monsieur le Maire for me? I'll expect to speak with him after the waltz."

"Yes, sir," she said, and with a small curtsy she briskly walked away.

He pulled Cosette close. Her body was so cold. Something was wrong. So very wrong. "Cosette," he whispered. "We can go home. Right now. We'll blame-."

"No. You need this…Just one dance Javert. Solidify your place in society before I leave."

He didn't like the sound of her voice. It was hollow – like the day that he found her unconscious. Her father's words rang in his ears. _'Stop being oblivious and realize how lucky you are.'_

"You can tell me anything, Cosette," he said, nearly imploring her to be honest.

"I don't feel well. I'm tired. Just dance with me once. I'll remember it forever," she whispered breathily as her strength continued to leach away from her.

He nodded. "One dance. And then I'll take you home."

"You have to stay," she started to retort.

"Like hell he does," her father stated, coming up to them.

"Do one dance," he told Javert. "Then go. I will make your excuses."

Javert bowed curtly and took Cosette's hand in his own. The rain outside had made the air more bareable, but he would suffer the most horrible air if it meant that Cosette was well. Her icy grip scared him. It was as though the icy grip of death was upon her.

The waltz was slow and for that he was grateful. Her steps were perfect and she smiled at him proudly. They twirled and he felt just right. He finally fit in with society. And that was the kindest gift Cosette could have given. He knew that's what the marriage was all about, but the extra work that she put in – the love that she showed him – that's what elevated him to become accepted.

Suddenly, someone with exceptionally strong perfume twirled past and Javert felt assaulted.

"Hep-TSHOO!" The first sneeze stopped their dancing, as he struggled for he handkerchief.

Cosette took a step back and to the side, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Heh-heh-eh-Het-TSHOO! HepShoo! HEH… Ektcssshooo!" His face crashed into his handkerchief and he coughed, his throat scratchy for the effort. He felt Cosette grasp his shoulder and lead him off to the side.

After giving his nose a stuffy blow, he opened his eyes. "My apologies," he whispered.

"That was not your fault. Don't you dare apologize," Cosette chastised.

"Why don't the two of you take your leave?" her father asked. It was obvious that he had been watching the whole thing.

"Thank you, papa," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Javert, please take me home," she whispered, shame dripping from her voice.

Cosette fell asleep on the ride home and Javert carried her from the fiacre. She awoke softly as he was tucking her into bed. "I'm so sorry for humiliating you," she said, her voice strained with exhaustion.

He gave her an incredulous look and sat next to her on the bed. Taking one of her cold hands in his, he asked how she could think such a thing.

"I couldn't stay by your side. I couldn't keep up. You were just as well – if not better – without me there."

"No, that's not the case," he said, feeling a chill race over his body. "I was able to maintain without you standing beside me, but that's only because of the training and care you provided all week. "Why didn't you tell me that you were unwell. That you were growing exhausted again?" He thought back throughout the week and wanted to kick himself for not realizing that she was unwell. The signs were all there. All of the clues lined up for him. And yet, he missed them completely.

"I'm fading," she stated.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Just sleep. I'll join you in a few minutes."

A sad smile crossed her face. "I love you, Javert. I know you hate me for it, but I do love you."

A rogue tear slipped down his face. While he was not a man known for his emotions, that did not mean they didn't exist. They were just locked up in an onyx marble box that resided in his heart. Surprisingly enough, this young beauty had shown the patience and love to open the lid. She couldn't fade. If the lid went back on that box, it would never open again.

"I love you, too," he said, squeezing her cold lifeless hand.

She smiled at him and closed her eyes.

He watched until her breathing got deeper and evened out before slipping into his sleep shift. When he climbed into bed next to her, he held her close for the first time ever. And, it could have been his imagination, but he thought that she felt warm.


End file.
